7-11 lost its charm when i was fourteen
shifting my weight from hip to hip, and the boy in front of me won't stop talking to the bored cashier about whatever dance remix is playing on muzak. the big dog in his pickup truck is just as bored. and i let out a heavy sigh to indicate that i'm bored with his lame attempts at socializing. i allow my mind to when 7-11 was the only place open, right down the street, and i had to go there to buy condoms the first time i had sex. my boyfriend was waiting in the car, and he didn't want to go in with me. i didn't feel awkward then, and i feel awkward now with my waiting face on the surveillance televisions and this back view of a home town boy in his flipflops and UT hat.
so the boy with his chewing tobacco and his dopey friend and his big dog and his lame pickup and his big gulp finally get out of my way so that i can buy my cigarettes and dr. pepper and eventually get home to listen to toad the wet sprocket and feel sorry for myself as i waste my breath on another inhale and pet my cat and wonder why boys are still buying chewing tobacco and strip down to my underwear to feel the breeze on the porch and remember that the cashier smiled at me and said, "have a good morning" even though i mumbled through the entire situation and stumbled out to my car in the empty parking lot because this is just another place to stop with the same aisles as every other convenience store with harsh flourescents and the only place close enough to buy my addiction at strange hours.
